


Fall To Pieces

by smudgay (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Comfort/Angst, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/smudgay
Summary: Sansa Stark's roommate, Margaery Tyrell, is horribly unladylike. Which irks the very ladylike and obsessed with propriety Sansa. A drunken kiss sends her mind reeling and Sansa is left to rethink her life, and choose if she wants happiness more than she wants security.It doesn't help that the secrets they've been keeping come back to bite them. Complicated pasts threaten their budding romance.





	1. Prologue 1

Sansa Stark's roomemate, Margaery, was a perplexing mix of traits. She was lazy as any of Sanasa's brothers, her clothes strewn about their apartment, but as charming as a real lady, smile wide with bright sparkling eyes. It was for that reason that Sansa felt herself captivated by Margaery even after living with the other woman had shattered the perfect vision she originally had of her.

In truth, Sansa had only decided to live with her because she thought her to be attractive. She'd found the listing online, the desperate plea of a broke university student seeking a roommate to cut her costs of living. Sansa had just decided to move out of King's Landing University's dorms for her second year (too many bad memories there and the need for real independence burning strong in her). It was the first listing she looked at, and it miraculously ended up being the last.

She'd walked in not expecting much, the rent was a bit higher than it should have been for the place, though not wholly unaffordable. It was a real walk to the campus, right through a particularly suspicious forest if you wanted to be quick about it or a series of convoluted bus rides to the campus if you wanted to be safe about it. But Margaery greeted her in a deep blue flowery dress, with the light scent of vanilla and soil and roses filling the air. She smiled, took Sandra's coat, and treated her to tea and lemon cakes, as if she somehow knew Sansa's favorite. She called her "sweetling" or "sweet girl" or something or another. She was older than Sansa by three years and she worked at her family’s flowershop across the street beside this bridal boutique that Sansa sometimes liked to window shop at. She was in her third year of study at King’s Landing, and already had a job, one bigger than her flower shop one, lined up for her. Sansa's enamored state left her unable to even negotiate a lower price and though she knew now that Margaery had very deliberately charmed her in that way, Sansa did not mind (it would not have been the first time that she'd been manipulated in that way, at least).

Margaery's presence came at the perfect time, Sansa thought. The Stark girl had just finished trying to convince herself that she liked boys, and only just wanted to be like all the ladylike ladies that she saw. Her relationship with Joffrey felt like the final straw, the fact that she let herself take his abuses partly so she wouldn't have to admit that she was gay. Then the one-night stands that followed really stabbed the point into her (Cersei had almost literally stabbed her at one point, but that was another story). Getting drunk as some club let her solidify the fact that she liked girls, and not just any kind. She liked girls that were feminine; long hair, soft skin, smelt like flowers, smiled politely. The kinds of ladies that she'd always been raised to be like, the kind that she pretended to simply idolize. The ones that were older, and called her some stupid pet name like "sweetie" that always made her feel like a little kid but in some deep place inside it, it was something that she wanted. The kinds like Margaery Tyrell.

Of course, getting Sansa Stark to admit any of this out loud would be a fool's task. Sansa was set on hiding that away  _forever_ , and getting married to some boy like her mother wanted, and she did want nothing more than to please her mother.

It was stupid and she knew it but something in Sansa made her feel like her and Margaery might be good friends, despite Sansa's attractive to her. And so, without even looking at other places, she'd accepted to live with Margaery and that led her to all sorts of discoveries and the slow unraveling of Margaery's perfect image.

Sansa glanced over at her roommate walking beside her to the campus, who was yawning in a blatant display of how deeply she hated the mornings. She wore a large coat for two reasons. One: Margaery had never been good with any type of cold weather, which saddened Sansa who was as from the North as one could be. And Two: because she'd been too lazy to properly dress herself and wore the coat to cover the old t-shirt that she'd slept in and was still wearing. Sansa almost scoffed as she thought about how Margaery had woken up exactly ten minutes ago, and didn't even have the decency to put on a bra. Her teeth went un-brushed, a sad outcome of the late morning as Margaery put it. So, she was chewing some mint gum as if that could make up for not brushing her teeth. Her hair—gods Sansa didn't even want to start on her hair—was a mess. While Sansa loved Margaery's soft brown hair and gentle curls, it was such a waste in its current state of right-out-of-bed-ness. Another outcome of the late morning was the hat Margaery wore to cover the whole thing. She'd put on some black sweatpants that she stuffed into her boots to make them look like better pants than they were. And worst of all, Sansa couldn't even be sure that she was wearing underwear.

Sansa had half a mind to just dress Margaery herself, something about Margaery made Sansa want to do it for her. To do everything for her, to protect and help and well, it just set her body on fire to see her roommate neglect herself like this. While Margaery loathed the mornings, and required three hours to ready herself (1 and a half on a good day), Sansa loved them. If she were ever late waking up like Margaery typically was (no matter how many times Sansa woke her), though, Sansa was NEVER late, she knew she wouldn't even be in half the state Margaery was in. Sansa woke up early everyday, showered, brushed her teeth, changed into some fashionable, made breakfast, did some yoga, read and still had time left before her earliest class. She'd always thought that Margaery was the same way but quickly found out she was horribly wrong.

What surprised Sansa every morning (still, even after having lived with the woman for a little less than a year now) was that Margaery still could muster out her famous smiles and chipper voice despite how tired she always complained about being.

“Sansa, dear,” she began, “we should skip our classes, forget school entirely in fact. Why don’t we run away to live in the forest?” Of course, that didn’t mean what was leaving her mouth was any bit upbeat.

“We can’t do that,” Sansa sighed, reaching out to tuck a strand of Margaery’s hair away from her mouth. It amazed her too just how different the other woman became at a much later hour, but for now, she was more akin a child; pouting and whining. “Come on, it’s only a little bit more and when it’s all done, you can take a nap.”

Margaery smiled at that, wrapping her arm around Sansa’s and pulling the girl close to her. “I would very much like a nap. Perhaps I’ll do that in class.”

“No,” Sansa pulled back, stopping in her tracks, “You need to pay attention, Marge! You need to…” Sansa paused, her eyes falling over Margaery’s face, which was now twisted as she tried to hold back laughter. “You need to stop teasing me,” she grumbled, “I’m sorry that I care about you.”

Margaery shook her head, “Then you should stop being so fun to tease.” She paused, “I do appreciate your care, Sansa. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“You can say that again.”

 


	2. Prologue 2

****Sansa sat at one of the benches, flipping through her textbook to highlight all the bits that she thought might just have been on the exam, when Allana Tyrell hovered over her smiling that way she did when she wanted Sansa to pay attention to her.

Allana, like Margaery, was unfairly pretty and particularly ladylike. Unlike her cousin, however, Allana never let that façade of ladylike-ness fade away for Sansa. She was though, painfully straight.

“Yes, Allana?” Sansa looked up, a pleasant smile on her own face.

Allana sat beside her without asking, “When does my cousin finish her class?”

Sansa thought about asking _which one_ , just to tease Allana but Sansa felt her mother’s words ring in her ears, and then Joffrey’s words, and then Cersei’s, and eventually, she decided that it just wasn’t proper to do that when Allana had obviously been referencing Margaery.

“In a couple of minutes actually. We usually meet here and go back to our apartment together.” Sansa cocked her head to the side, wordlessly asking _why_.

“Oh,” Allana stood up, looking as though she’d just remembered something, “well, can you pass along a message for me?”

Sansa nodded.

“Tell her that nana would like to speak to her about…well,” Allana paused, biting her lower lip delicately, “she knows about what.”

Sansa nodded again and in a moment Allana bid her farewell and went away just as Margaery rushed up behind Sansa to cover her eyes with her hands.

“Conspiring with my cousin, Sansa?” She leaned down, burying her face into Sansa’s hair. She smelt like cinnamon and flowery soap, faintly like that stupid lemon-scented crap she used to clean with. “I’m going to cry.”

Sansa turned around, hugging Margaery’s head as best as she could. “She had a message for you.”

“Oh,” Margaery pretended to cry, “I don’t want to hear it! Allana never has anything nice to say. She _bullies_ me.”

Sansa blinked, months of being accustomed to Margaery left her unfazed by the current display. “She does not bully you, and she said that your grandmother wished to speak with you.”

Margaery pulled back, her expression serious now. “Oh,” she voice dipped into the way it always was when she wanted to hide something, “I see.”

“You have eyes that work, so you certainly see,” Sansa smirked, the only time she really felt comfortable saying something cutting or improper was around Margaery, who was so improper herself that Sansa took comfort in knowing that nothing that she did would ever be as bad as anything that Margaery did (or so she told herself, at least).

Margaery smiled meekly, “can we go home now?”

Sansa nodded again, knowing better than to press. For whatever reason, Margaery’s grandmother had been demanding a lot of her attention, but Sansa, curious as she was, never had the audacity to ask what it was all about.

That was her business anyway.

* * *

 

Their apartment was an honest to-the-old-gods-and-the-new mess, or at least, it always was until Sansa got to it. Margaery cleaned about once a week, and usually about as thoroughly as she read instructions for food (which was not at all). Sansa, on the other hand, found mess to be appalling. She'd had it driven into her that a lady should always be clean, and should always be cleaning. And so she did. She cleaned their floors, windows, laundry, toilets, what ever there was to clean.

It didn't take long until Margaery started to hate it.

It felt unfair to her. That Sansa would be doing all this work, as if she didn’t even have a roommate. Margaery didn’t think of herself as a bad roommate at all, it’s not like she _refused_ to clean. But compared to Sansa, she felt wholly inadequate. Her skills were talking and charming and _smiling_ , not cleaning and cooking and knitting…or sewing….or crochet? What ever it was that Sansa did.

At first, she decided to clean up a bit on her own but she was always missing a spot or not doing a good enough job and then Sansa would clean anyway. Then, she went about distracted Sansa. She used lemon cakes or video games or books or, when she was desperate, she just pretended to be in a mood. When even that proved not to work, she just resorted to getting Sansa out of the house entirely.

Today, opening their apartment now after class to see it immaculate, Margaery felt a plan on the tip of her tongue. “Sansa,” she threw her coat aside and pulled her pants down (like Sansa had guess before, she didn’t even bother to wear underwear but at least the shirt was long enough to give her some shreds of modesty), “today is Friday.”

“So says the calendar,” Sansa moved forward, picking up Margaery’s coat and picking the hat off her head.

“When did you get the time to clean the apartment?” Margaery spun around quickly, taking her things from Sansa’s hands and putting them away herself.

“Last night,” Sansa confessed, shrugging, “I couldn’t sleep. What does that have to do with it being Friday?”

Margaery grimaced, remembering Sansa’s frequent sleepwalking. Why it happened, Margaery did not know, for all the research she did on the topic, she always pulled up nothing. But just like herself, Sansa seemed to have her secrets. As much as it saddened her not to know them, she could hardly complain when she did the same. “Let’s go out tonight.”

“On a Friday?”

“Which is the day that people go out,” Margaery reached out, taking Sansa’s hands in her own, loving the way that her roommate flushed at the contact.

Sansa blinked, taking her hands back. “Not people who have work early tomorrow morning like you.”

“That’s a ‘me’ problem, sweetling,” Margaery stepped away with quick, graceful steps, “After my nap, I’m dragging you out of this house, so you should be ready.”

“After your nap,” Sansa giggled, “You’re such a child.”

Margaery shot a glance back at Sansa, “Because I take naps?”

“That, and you whine like one.”


	3. The Way You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you with bareing with thise first two chapters, they're really of a lesser quality than I would have liked (don't write at 2am!) And I wanted to scrap them entirely but they're already up :')
> 
> Anyway, that was all i wanted to say lol NOW THE STORY BEGINS and for anyone wondering, Sansa is now in her their year of university while Margaery is in her last year. There's a three year gap between age wise because Margeary did not pursue secondary education right away, so she's older than the straight outta highschool college-goers. 
> 
> Updated the rating and warnings too!

There were two tests waiting for Sansa next week, anthropology and mythology respectively. There was an assignment that she needed to edit and hand in, another that she agreed to edit for a friend, yet nothing was getting done. All because Margaery had rather loudly exclaimed that they'd be going out tonight. It seemed like Margaery was always roping her into doing something against her better judgement. Sansa always had trouble saying "no" and especially to Margaery, who she knew would never force her to do something, but would pout until she felt so guilty that she'd say yes. Something about Margaery was pure evil, pure and utter evil. Evil, and irresistible. Even if Sansa could say no, it was almost as if she didn't want to.

Sansa pressed her hand against her dress, trying to iron out the wrinkles she could see form at the end. She should have ironed it, and she was plagued with the idea until she could hear Margaery call out:

"Sansa! No ironing!" Just as if she knew.

Sansa flushed to herself, embarrassed that somehow her roommate would know her thoughts even though she was in another room entirely.

"Just hurry up!" Sansa called back. She could hear things knocking over in the washroom as Margaery readied herself, a mess that she'd doubtlessly clean later.

She glanced back down at her dress, an old thing she'd pulled out from the very bottom of her closet, where it seemed to have fallen down from its hanger and into a box where Sansa kept her old notes. She had a little business photocopying them and selling it, which made her feel a some kind of criminal but like with all ideas that made her feel criminal—it was Margaery's. At least she was richer for it.

It was tight, probably because it was so old, and it rode up Sansa's leg uncomfortabley. She should have worn something else, but this was new (well, old, but so old that no one had seen her in it so it was new). And that meant it was new for Margaery, who had really seen Sansa is everything (except naked, but that was a like Sansa was never going to cross).

As she readied her voice to shout at her roommate again, she heard a door click and open behind her and she spun—gorgeous Margaery emerging from the washroom.

The brunette wore a fitting dark blue dress that stopped just shy of her knees. In its fabric was a flower pattern barely noticeable but it seemed to hug Magaery's body well, and the design travelled around leading Sansa's eyes all over. First, to Margaery's chest, which was creamy and peaking out from the top. It made Sansa thankful for her height, so she could see down her dress just the right amount when they would be close. Second; Margaery's beautiful legs, which showed a softness that just screamed to be touched. Then, to the fairness of Margaery's skin, which, like her legs, screamed to be touched. But Sansa felt a yearning deep in her to make that skin red, or to bite deep into it.

And that was all great, and it was, _Margaery was great_. But what Sansa liked the most was Margaery's eyes, deep and brown. She'd always liked Margaery's eyes the best, then her smile, then her laugh. The legs were nice, and the chest and the skin and gods, that ass too. But Sansa liked the eyes, the eyes that were always honest despite what was leaving Margaery's mouth. Of course, Sansa wasn't the best at reading them (or anything for that matter) but she liked being able to see them. How many times now had she had silent conversations with just Margaery's eyes? Her eyes knew all of Sansa's secrets, especially the one that she loved the eyes.

"Hey," Margaery smiled, the tiredness from the morning had left her and she was in full-swing now. "You look…" she paused, raking her teeth along her lower lip like she was holding something back.

Sansa searched her eyes and found an emotion that she'd seen a couple of times before on her roommate, but never knew what to call. It made her blush though, and sent a pleasant shiver through her body as other parts of her burned. It felt close to the way Cersei had looked at her once, but Cersei's gaze had always been so cold, not bright and warm like Margeary's.

"Amazing," Margaery finally got out, eyes lingering just a little too long on Sansa's legs. She stepped closer to Sansa with a smirk now, a Margeary staple. "We're just getting drinks, not seducing the whole bar, you know."

"I know," Sansa glanced at the floor, flushing. She wanted to say that Margeary was dressed worse than she was, but Margaery always dressed like that, so there was no point. "I just found this dress in the bottom of my closet."

"You've been hiding a sexy little black dress from me this entire time?" Margaery reached for Sansa's waist, spining her around to get a better look.

"It wasn't so little when I bought it," Sansa retorted, still flushed. "It's stupid, I'll go change."

Margeary held her still, eyes filled with a different look than before. This one Sansa had seen countless times before as well, but could place with even less accuracy. No one had ever looked at her like this before, she couldn't begin to guess what it meant. Despite how the look warmed her, it worried her all the same. Made her want to turn away and shove herself in some dark and cold room where no one could look at her like that, where it was easier.

"No," she said, "I like you just the way you are." And she said it so earnestly that even Sansa's insecurity couldn't question it.

"Okay," Sansa mumbled, eyes trying to focus on Margeary's face but struggling to fixate on just one spot. After a moment, she regained herself, and the usual insecure babble and anxiety filled her brain again. "But if this thing goes all the way up my leg and exposes me, I'm blaming you for ruining my modesty."

"Sweetling," Margaery cooed, "I'll ruin your modesty any day." With a smirk and the gripping of Sansa's wrist, they were out the door and into the cold fall night.

"I, um," Sansa stuttered, "I like you just the way you are too."

"Laziness and all?"

"All of it."


	4. Ex's and Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another clarification. The style of this fic will be Sansa-centered chapter, then Margary, Sansa, Margaery's, etc. Mostly because I couldnt decide on what character to focus on and ASOIAF uses Multi perspective so what can't I DAMMIT IT 
> 
> Also cat's out if the bag, the title does in fact come from a Patsy Cline song, but it's not related to anything lol I just suck at names

Margaery had learned two important things about Sansa and drinking from their time living together.

One: she always felt inclined to listen to even more Patsy Cline than she usually did. She felt included to sing it too, which Margaery didn't mind so much (she'd take Sansa's raspy singing to some old lady any day). Margaery only got the appeal of classical country music when Sansa was around to dance around to it and sing along. She'd bought the girl a record player and a couple of vinyls for her birthday (which was in September), so she could listen to her old-ass music the way it was meant to be listened to. It wasn't like Patsy Cline was the only old-as-hell musician that Sansa liked to listen to, oh no. Sansa throughout enjoyed the sounds of decades long past. While Margaery thought if Sansa as quite a classic and old-fashioned girl, she'd be lying if she said she didn't wish Sansa wanted to blast something more modern through their house.

So, naturally, Margaery was more than happy about the current live band playing at the bar they were at, belting out covers of top 40 songs and some classics—real classics like Destiny's Child, Radiohead and Blink 182.

But that brought her back to the second thing that she knew about Sansa while she drank: she loved to dance. Which, normally, Margaery didn't mind, but after hours of dancing and trying not to step on other patron's toes, she was fucking tired. Not that a tipsy Sansa noticed though.

"Sansa," Margaery breathed out, "why don't we sit for a bit?"

"But they're playing a song that I actually recognize!" Sansa beamed at Margaery who was, and probably always would be, weak to Sansa's smiles. It wasn't her fault, really. Sansa was the kind of person who reacted to things with her whole body. When she was tired, her face drooped and her body slumped. When she was sad, her whole body closed in and every action was painful to watch. When she was happy, it was no different. And gods, how Margaery did love her smile. But gods, how Margaery couldn't just up and say that to Sansa's face. Poor, sweet, straight and narrow Sansa's face.

Besides, if anyone could see her now, they'd laugh. Seductress Margaery, who was sure a fan of pretty girls smiles, was now whipped and leashed by her straight roommate. What a cliché.

"Okay," she groaned, trying to fight the burn of her feet. She shouldn't have worn heels, she figured this was going to happen after all.

Sansa squealed in excitement, as if Margaery agreeing to dance with her was the same as winning the lottery. Gods, Sansa always reacted to everything like it was the most important thing in her life. She wasn't much of a bigger picture person, even for all the fantasizing that she did. As organized and plan-loving as Sansa was, she lived wholly in the present and the near future, not daring to look beyond. To Margaery, it felt like Sansa was simply scared to plan a long-term future. She could see it in little ways, like how Sansa would never pay a full year's rent, only months at a time, as if she might run away at any moment. Or how she never made big decisions for herself (even the idea of coming to King's Landing was someone else's, Margaery learned). To her, it seemed as if moving out of the dorms was the only thing that she'd decided for herself. And it was like she regretted it everyday, or was trying to overcompensate by making sure everything about it was perfect.

Why she did it though, Margaery didn't have a clue.

"Do you think they'll sing some Patsy?" Sansa asked, leaning into Margaery just a little too much.

"No, Sansa. But we can make a request when they take a break next." Margaery wished she'd lean in closer.

As the song droned on, Sansa danced expertly as Margaery tried her best not to show just how tired she was. Sansa was a collosal lightweight when it came to alcohol, which broke down every stereotype Margaery knew about Northerners—which was really only that they can handle their liquor (because they drink a lot) and love the cold. Sansa just so happened to drink little and take it terribly when she did, and she liked the warm sun better than the cold moon. When the song ended, and the band announced a break, Margaery could hear her sore feet cheer.

"I'm going to go request some Patsy," Sansa tapped Margaery gently, "wait for me at our table?"

"I'd wait a thousand years for you," Margaery winked, letting the sentence seem like an exaggeration when it was the whole, embarassing truth.

Yeah, so, Margaery Tyrell the seductress was in love. Who could blame her?

She slipped back into her seat, picking up her beer to sip it slowly. They could just get a taxi or something back, but Margaery liked being sober enough to drive. Mostly so that she was also sober enough to take care of Sansa in places like these. She'd done that for her even before she realized she liked the younger girl, and wasn't about to stop now. It wasn't like she needed alcohol for anything anyway. She was charismatuc and flirty enough without it, alcohol only made her a clingy and emotional mess.

She taped the glass bottle impaitently, looking around to try and find Sansa over the crowd but finding hereself unsuccessful from her spot.

"-me?"

Margaery whipped her head around, focusing on the voice that snapped her away from her search.

"Oh," she squeaked in faux happiness to be seeing this stranger, "I didn't notice you."

The stranger was a short boy with even shorter blond hair. He had this smug and annoying kind of face that Margaery had seen countless times before, but somehow hated even more on him.

"No matter," he smiled, it was crooked and forced, "you're noticing me now."

Margaery decided then that she didn't like him, and especially not his eyes, which were dark and distrustful. They glistened with lies, and unknown curelty. Margaery had always been good at reading people, and she'd dealt with so many strangers like this that she practically had his thoughts running through her head.

She smiled sweetly again, "did you need something? Oh, am I blocking your view?"

"A name, would be nice." He extended his hand out, "I'm Joffrey Baratheon."

"Baratheon?" Margaery pretended to be too interested in her beer to shake his hand. "Like Renly Baratheon?" She knew the Baratheons well, and not only because her brother was dating one. They were a strong political family, even stronger since the marriage between the Lannisters and them, the one that produced a couple of children who would no doubt inherit the expansive Baratheon family business of weapons manufacturing while maintaining the Lannisters heavy connection with the politics of Westeros. Oh, Margaery knew them well. She was almost a politician herself. Just one more year of university and then she'd be officially working under her grandmother and senator.

"Yes," Joffrey took the seat—Sansa's seat—in front of Margaery without asking. "He's my uncle, the poor sap."

"He's dating my brother."

Joffrey made a face, like he'd just sucked on a lemon. "Yes, I'm aware of his…choices."

Love wasn't much of a choice, but she let Joffrey have that one.

"So you must be Margaery Tyrell then?"

Margaery nodded, "I am in fact."

"I've heard so much," He smirked, eyes shamelessly dropping down to Margaery's cleavage. "The Tyrells are an ambitious family, with that expanded flower business and the increasing political control." It felt like he was reading off a script, but Margaery's nodded anyway. A lot of things she said were partially scripted just the same. Politics was always like that.

"You've come here to talk to me about work?" She laughed, "it's Friday night."

Joffrey laughed with her, just as forced as her own laughter was. "No," he decided, "I noticed who you were with acutally."

Margaery's stomach sank, it hadn't been the first time that guys had approached her for some kind of "in" with Sansa Stark, but she really didn't like this guy, and the idea of _him_ , of all people (not that any other person with Sansa particularly excited her), made her stomach turn with disgust.

"Oh, you mean my lady fri—"

" _My_ lady," he corrected, almost snapping at her. Margaery figured that a you her Joffrey might have had less control of his selfish anger, not that this one was any better. "But continue."

Margaery thought of continuing her quip but felt something more pressing. "You know her?"

"We dated, and I was such a fool to leave her." He smiled, dripping with a falseness that Margaery's could easily see through. He didn't care for Sansa at all, that much was painfully obvious. "She was just as foolish to let me go," he added, as if he needed to put that in their to strengthen his frail ego.

Margaery hated him, but Sansa never talked of her ex's before and so curiosity drove her to continue speaking to him as though they were friends.

"Oh, she's mentioned you before." She hadn't. "She said you were handsome…" He was not. "But she left out just how much so." Margaery hated the games she played sometimes.

Joffrey seemed to like that, and he leaned into the table, lighting up. "Well, someone like me must keep up certain appearances."

"I can see that." Or smell, more like. As Joffrey's pungent cologne filled the air between them.

"Joffrey?"

Both their heads snapped up to see Sansa hovering over them with confusion wrought into her face.

Joffrey stood up quickly, unprepared to deal with Sansa now in front of her own friend, whom he was beginning to like a great deal more. "Oh," he coughed, "I was just going to leave my new number with Margaery, so you can call me and we can catch up."

Sansa nodded meekly, words escaping her. She looked like a ghost of herself now, pale and distant. Margaery wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap her in a tight hug, to ground her and remind her of sun and flowers and things that were not Joffrey Baratheon. She didn't move though, and Joffrey was able to scrawl his number on a napkin and leave it there before he left himself.

Sansa sat down slowly, as if the chair might be poisoned. Margaery knew it was still hot from Joffrey's touch, but Sansa reacted if the damn thing was in fire.

"No offense," Margaery said, trying to break the heavy air that surrounded them, "but your ex is kind of an asshole."

Sansa looked up, cold and far from Margaery.

"But he was an asshole who wanted me."


End file.
